One reason Paul caught more fish than anyone else was that he had his flies in the water more than anyone else. "Brother," he would say, "there are no flying fish in Montana. Out here, you can't catch fish with your flies in the air."
~Norman Maclean

Monday, March 23, 2009

TIme well spent

As noon rolled around on Friday, looking out the back window revealed azure skies, and plenty of sun, and the weather site was reporting temperatures pushing 60 degrees. As we haven't seen a day over 50 in 5 months or so it was much too appealing out to remain cloistered in my basement writing code.

I asked my older son, who turned 3 a few weeks back if he would like to go fishing, and he excitedly replied in the affirmative. He knows that dad disappears about once a week to fish, and has fished with me quite a bit in the past. In his first summer, while he was still small I would put him and enough formula and diapers for a day into my car and head out for a bit of creek fishing. I would cary him in a chest pack and he would watch for a bit, find the fish interesting, but usually fell asleep within about 1/2 hour of arriving upon whatever creek we chose for the day.

For the following 2 summers (once he learned to walk) I would take him out on some of the smaller branches of the Snake and various "safer" spots around our house. He can cast a little, and last summer actually cast, hooked and landed a whitefish on a dry fly. No small task for a 2 year old.

My wife objected strenuously to my taking my boy fishing, but once she realized that he was going, she then switched to a litany of "you keep an eye on him", and "don't let him drown." I think she fails to realize just how low the river currently is, and just how little incentive a little boy has to play in water that is not over 40 degrees. Despite that, I did keep him under wary eye, though we fished in slow water areas with very gentle banks.

We fished a bit and let the kids fight the fish and land them. Lucas (my boy) likes to just walk up the bank until the fish is landed. He used this technique on a number of whitefish (John caught the only trout). Parker, John's boy, was a little afraid of the fish. Causing quite the ruckus every time his dad went to release one.

The kids were fairly well behaved. They threw rock and sticks into the river, poked around with this and that, chased bugs, demanded to cast and generally had a good time of themselves. Lucas cast chanting "forwards" and "backwards" in portuguese tryng to get the timing of his cast down little better. And fought fish like a pro. He wanted to keep every fish we caught as he thinks fish tasty, and became upset as I released them. I tried to explain to him that whitefish are not real good eating, and that we would keep any rainbow trout that we caught (doing our part with the cutthroat restoration) but he still did not like the fact that daddy kept tossing his fish back.

I plan on buying him a 3 wt, overlining it with a wf 4 wt line and taking him out on the SF during the salmon fly hatch..... now if I can only convince his mother to allow my plans............. I really like making memories with my family.

About Me: Jabberwock

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.